


Maybe the World is Changing (Ever So Slowly)

by chasingyellow



Series: Metamorphosis [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: A sequel to 'Waitin' On the World to Change', Angst with a Happy Ending, But also very sad, Dick Grayson Tries to Be a Good Older Sibling, Dick Grayson drives home, Dick Grayson is Bad at Feelings, Dick Grayson is a good bro, Dick Grayson is confused about Jello, Dick Grayson is very sweet, Dick watches Atlantis: the Lost Empire, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jason is a Dork, They're bros and they're doing their best, You're doing amazing sweetie, alone though T-T, and does some thinking, no beta we die like robins, which might be my new fav tag, you had one job Jason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:40:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29472591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingyellow/pseuds/chasingyellow
Summary: Dick wanted another chance to take care of him—a hundred more chances to take care of him. He wanted everyone to just slow down because it feels like everyone is moving faster than he can manage these days.He wanted everyone to slow down.But, of course, Superman was faster than a speeding bullet.ORA sequel to Waitin' On the World to Change from Dick Grayon's perspective.
Series: Metamorphosis [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2152125
Comments: 16
Kudos: 86





	Maybe the World is Changing (Ever So Slowly)

**Author's Note:**

> It's here finally! It's been a little longer than I planned. Midterms were a little crazy but, today, I present to you the long-awaited (haha) sequel/one-shot that I promised.  
> This has pretty much the same warnings as the story before it, as it deals with the same plot, although it's Dick-centric.  
> Hope you all enjoy!

Dick hadn’t ever seen such bad luck.

Jason, he was sure, was the unluckiest person that he’d ever met. 

Dying. Getting resurrected. Going insane. Coming back. Fighting with his only real father figure. Going to Arkham. 

And now, on the eve of the anniversary of his death, he was lying on a hospital bed, getting prepped for surgery. 

It had taken the doctors a little while to rule out about a hundred things. Dick’s stomach had been in an anxious knot the entire time, just waiting for them to find something wrong with the results of his blood tests, to find some mystery substance. 

Apparently, the lingering traces of the pit weren’t noticed by the hospital staff. And they’d figured everything out. 

Jason needed surgery, but he was going to be fine. 

Dick was relieved, but not nearly enough. 

_How could he be?_ _How was he supposed to be calm when his brother_ might _be dying?_

Not dying. 

That was extreme and dramatic. Jason wasn’t dying. He was sick, he was injured, but he wasn’t dying. 

_ What kind of sick irony would it be if Jason died on the anniversary of his death?  _

Dick shook his head, gripped the armrests of the plastic hospital chair and tried to breathe properly. He needed to be strong now. He needed to be strong—he needed to be strong for Jason. He needed to be strong through the surgery. After the surgery. Up until Dick could go back to his apartment. Up until Jason was okay, again. 

_ Only a little longer.  _ He only had to be strong a little while longer. 

He’d done okay so far. 

_ How good was he honestly expected to be? His brother was dying.  _

That wasn’t true, though, Dick reminded himself. Jason was fine. He just had to wait a little longer. Then he could see him, then he could make sure. 

He sensed Clark shifting in his seat and he was surprised when a hand landed on his arm, gripped his bicep. 

“Dick?” 

“Hmm,” He couldn’t even muster the energy to look over. 

“Jason’s strong,” was all he said. 

“Yeah, I know,”

  
  
  


The surgery went well. No complications. 

_ But he’d known that. He knew that he would be okay.  _

It had been a few hours since he’d gotten out of the operating room, but Dick doubted that Jason would be awake yet. He had never handled pain medication very well. 

It either knocked him out right away and he slept like the dead or he was loopy for three straight days. Or it was a terrible mixture of both. 

He hated them, for that reason exactly. 

Dick expected him to be asleep—half  _ hoped _ that he would be asleep, because Jason had always liked that better—but apparently, he’d drawn the short end of the stick yet again because he seemed to be in some sort of bleary in-between state. 

“Jay? Can you hear me?” 

Jason rolled his head over, eyes roving, searching for Dick’s face. His expression was so blank, so  _ almost peaceful  _ that Dick wasn’t sure what to think right away. 

He looked  _ so freaking young.  _

He wondered how old his brother was now. Wondered if the years that he’d been... _ out of commision  _ counted. Red Hood had been running around the city for, what? A year? A year and a half? How long had he been roaming the streets before Dick had known that his brother was alive again? 

_ Bruce had waited to tell him that too.  _

“Hey, how you feeling?” Dick sat on the plastic chair beside his bed. The one that Clark had convinced him to get out of an hour ago before it molded to his shape. But Clark had left, insisted on picking up some food— _ was it breakfast time, or lunch? _ —for them, and Dick had found his way back to that chair. Back to his brother. 

Jason squinted at him, like the lights were too bright. He raised a hand, rubbed at one of his eyes in a way that seemed entirely too childish for the Red Hood. He waited a moment, smirked a little and used the other hand to point at Dick, the extended index finger wavering drunkenly. “Y’r hair,” 

Dick nearly laughed out loud, though he wasn’t entirely sure why because what he  _ felt  _ like doing was crying. But he smiled for Jason and ran his fingers through his hair and then leaned over and guided Jason’s arm back to his side so that he didn’t tear out his IV. “Yeah, I know. That’s sort of your fault.” 

“Huh,” Jason said, like he thought it was funny. He slumped a little further, other hand dropping away, gaze getting lost in something that only he could see. “I didn’t die, huh?” 

“Nope,” Dick said, leaning over and resting his elbow on the armrest of the chair. He sighed, letting his chin drop into his hand. “Nope, you’re alright,” 

Jason smiled that stupid, young smile that made Dick want to break down. “Cool,” He muttered, eyelids drooping. “Veeeeery nice,” 

“Yeah,” Dick whispered, “Pretty cool indeed,” 

Jason was already asleep. 

Dick thought it was only appropriate to cry. 

  
  
  


One second, Jason was sitting up in bed and asking what had happened and Dick was leaving the room to find him some water. 

The next he was  _ out _ of bed, shrugging on a hoodie and pretending like he didn’t have two healing gunshot wounds in his stomach and stitches in his  _ freaking pancreas.  _ Plus the lingering pain medication. Dick was surprised he got to his feet in the first place. 

Jason brushed off all of his protests, though— _ of course he did. Why would he start listening to him now?  _

It happened too quickly. 

_ Too,  _ too quickly because Dick’s mind still felt slow and heavy and a headache was pulsing in his skull and anxiety was pulsing in his stomach, but  _ Superman  _ was agreeing to fly Jason back to  _ Gotham.  _

And he gets it! He does. He knew that it was what Jason wanted. He knew that  _ now  _ Jason would be able to heal properly—and inhumanly quickly—but…

But Dick didn’t want him to leave. 

Dick wanted to make sure he was okay. 

Dick wanted another chance to take care of him—a hundred more chances to take care of him. 

He wanted everyone to just  _ slow down  _ because it feels like everyone is moving faster than he can manage these days. 

He wanted everyone to slow down. 

But, of course, Superman was faster than a speeding bullet. 

  
  
  
  


When he twisted the key in the ignition, both the engine  _ and _ the radio roared to life. 

Clark must’ve turned it on at some point, or had it on before that but Dick couldn’t remember, for the life of him, hearing it on the drive to the hospital. 

Of course, that made sense. He  _ had _ been cradling his feverish, half-delirious little brother in his lap and trying to convince Jason that he wasn’t going to give up on him. That was probably a good excuse to not have noticed the alt-rock station playing in the background. 

_ Where had that come from?  _

Jason had been so convinced—so determined to make sure that Dick knew that it was okay to just give up on him. So determined to make sure that Dick knew that he didn’t have to come back.

_ Where had they gone so terribly wrong?  _

He understood, he supposed, not wanting to go to Bruce for help. Dick knew that they had had some sort of fall out. He’d never known the details, but if it was as bad enough to make Jason so terrified of talking about it then it made Dick nervous. 

But to Jason, Dick and Bruce had been separate. When Dick and Bruce were fighting, he’d talk to Jason. They’d go to Dick’s apartment in Bludhaven and they’d play Monopoly until it was time for patrol. 

When Jason and Bruce were fighting, Dick bought him pizza and Neapolitan ice cream and they ate until Jason decided to talk or until they were both sick. Jason would crash on Dick’s couch, and Dick would go to work, and the next day they’d pretend like nothing happened. 

But this time, this new Jason, was different. 

Yeah, Dick knew that he’d died and come back and he guessed that something like that would do something to a guy. But Dick had been trying for weeks, for months—since Jason had stopped killing as often, since the reports were becoming less brutal, since  _ heads  _ stopped showing up in duffle bags—to connect with Jason.

There was something terrifying about the way he acted so tough until his voice shook a little when he said the thing he didn’t mean to let slip. The way that he opened the texts that Dick sent him, instead of just ignoring them like Dick had thought he would. The way that he just stood there sometimes, when he thought Dick wasn’t watching. Like he was trying to get himself under control. Or his nerves under control. 

The way that he acted like he could go it alone. 

Dick had known something about it was all wrong, but he hadn’t realized how  _ lost  _ Jason was until he found his little brother, bleeding out on his apartment floor. 

Where had he screwed up so terribly and completely? Jason felt guilty about needing—about  _ wanting _ —help. From  _ him.  _ From his brother. 

And somewhere, somehow, some part of that was Dick’s fault. 

Of course, Jason had also been half out of his mind, at the time. And Jason had been honest-to-goodness insane for a few months after his resurrection. 

_ But Jason was his brother. And he didn’t think that Dick wanted to help him.  _

There was something so entirely wrong with that. Something— _ everything— _ about that that didn’t sit right in his stomach. That made him want to scream and punch someone and kill the Joker. 

_ Well, he’d already done that once.  _

Dick felt his breath stutter, and he realized that he was still sitting in the parking lot, trying to keep himself from punching something. 

_ Get yourself together, Dick.  _

Jason and Clark were probably in Gotham already. Almost certainly. Jason was probably already settled in his apartment, curled up on the couch watching TV or, hopefully, sleeping.

Dick wondered if he’d eaten anything. 

He needed someone there, to check on him. 

_ Dick  _ needed someone to be with Jason, making sure that he didn’t pop his stitches. Making sure that he ate something every day, even if he was tired, even if he felt like crap. Making sure that he would go to sleep. Someone making sure that he wouldn’t go out on patrol. Someone making sure that he wouldn’t go do something that he’d regret. 

Someone to make sure that he was okay. 

_ Dick needed to be in Gotham,  _ now. 

But, for some stupid reason, he’d offered to drive the truck home. And for some reason even more stupid, Jason hadn’t wanted anyone to go with him. He wanted to be alone. 

He  _ always  _ wanted to be alone. 

Dick wanted to say that he could understand that, but there had been only a few times in his life when he wanted to be alone. He thrived off of being around people. Off of being around people that loved him, that he loved. When he was sick, he wanted someone to hang out with, to watch TV with. When he was upset, he wanted someone to talk things out with. When he was sad, he wanted someone who would just let him cry and not judge. 

Sometimes he just wanted someone to sit with him. 

Jason didn’t. 

And Dick got that, he understood that.  _ Almost.  _ Just not now. Just not when things were the way that they were. 

Dick sighed, ran a hand down his face, and set his jaw. He was trying, desperately, not to cry. To stay focused. 

_ Take the truck back to Clark’s house.  _ That was step one. 

He could do that. He was going to do that. 

Dick drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, wondered for a second if he was even safe to be driving. But he’d been on patrol, with his life and other lives literally in his hands, the day after he’d found out that Jason had  _ died.  _ He’d been worse then. He’d dealt with worse. 

_ Just drive back to Clark’s.  _

He shifted gears with another careful breath and then pulled out of the parking lot. 

Smallville, Kansas wasn’t exactly a familiar town to Dick. Sure, he’d been there a few times, he could remember how to get back to Clark’s home, but that did nothing for the  _ out in the open  _ feeling that he had whenever he was somewhere so empty. 

It was beautiful out here. Nothing like where he’d grown up, where he’d lived with his parents. But it was beautiful in its own way. He tried to focus on that, tried not to feel exposed as he rattled along the long, empty roads. 

_ Empty.  _ That was his least favourite part. 

That meant that he had to think. 

Thinking was the one thing that Dick Grayson did  _ not  _ want to do at the moment. 

Save his brother? Yes. 

Drive to Gotham and make sure that Jason was still alive, because for some reason he needed to reassure himself? Yes. 

Eat? Yeah, sure.  _ What the heck, right?  _

But think? Not for 48 hours, at least. Not for a week, maybe. 

_ Didn’t Jason understand that Dick needed to be sure? That he needed to  _ know  _ that his brother was okay? That he needed  _ Jason _ to just stay a second longer so that he could be sure?  _

Why did he always feel like he had to take off the first second that he could? 

Why did he always feel the need to not be part of their family? 

Dick was being stupid; he  _ knew  _ why Jason thought the way that he did. There was some sort of rift between Jason and Bruce and it had only been enlarged by the fact that both of them had run around the same city, protecting and killing according to their own creeds, and neither of them reaching out to connect with the other. 

Dick  _ knew  _ that Bruce felt like he had failed, that he felt that Jason was going against everything that he had raised him to believe. He felt that Jason no longer wanted to be a hero. 

Dick  _ knew  _ that Jason was suffering from the effects of brutal death and a resurrection seemingly just as unpleasant. He knew that Jason felt like he was lost and broken. He knew that the boy was keeping secrets and that he was trying to be strong in all the wrong places. He knew that Jason needed help but wouldn’t let himself have it. 

He didn’t know how much of that either of them knew. 

Dick sighed, slowing at a stoplight and running his hand down his face again. He was so  _ tired.  _ He needed to sleep, but he knew that he couldn’t. His mind wouldn’t let him. He was almost sure of it.

_ Couldn’t Jason have just stayed one more day?  _

Dick went through the intersection a second too late, stalling at the green light for a little too long. He sighed again, tried to keep himself focused on the road. 

Just a few more minutes. A few more miles. Then he’d be at Clark’s and he could crash for the night. 

A few more hours. Then he’d be back in Gotham and he could check on Jason—if he’d even let him. 

A few more days and he’d get back to Bludhaven, and then he’d have hours of stuff to catch up on. Hours of work to put in to get on top of everything. 

A few more months _ —don’t kid yourself, Dick, it’ll be years— _ and he’d be over this and things would go back to normal. He wouldn’t go to sleep worrying that Jason would get himself hurt doing something stupid and not get help because he didn’t think that he was worth it. 

_ What happens next time?  _

What happens when Jason got shot again  _ because heaven knew that it happened all the time _ , and it was bad and he didn’t call anyone? What happened when Dick was in Bludhaven and he was too far away? What happened when Jason thought he could deal with something himself and he got an infection, or a fever again and decided that he wasn’t hungry for days and days on end. Or got a  _ freaking  _ hole in another one of his organs. 

A blaring horn from the car behind him nearly scared him witless, and he realized that he’d been driving much too slow. 

_ Just another reason that the drive to the house felt way too long.  _

  
  
  
  
  


Dick stared at the backseat of the truck for a long time after he finished unloading everything. 

He could almost picture it, could almost imagine Jason sitting there again, laying the wrong way across the seats, head in Dick’s lap. 

And he could easily picture the look on his face. The earnestness. The mixture of anger and fear and  _ softness  _ that Dick thought only a few people could manage to make look as heart-wrenching. 

Dick wondered if he knew—he wondered if Jason knew how difficult he was being. How unnecessary all of this was. If he would just let Bruce help—

No. If he would just let Dick take him back to the Manor, let Dick take him to Alfred, things would have been easier. Things would have gone more smoothly. 

Alfred would have been able to figure it out. Alfred would have known that Jason needed a hospital. He would have known how to help him. 

_ Tim  _ had known. 

Damian had known. 

Bruce would’ve known. 

Dick just...hadn’t. 

He’d believed Jason when he said it was normal: the unsteadiness, the fever, the lapses of consciousness. He’d be scared—no, downright terrified—but he’d believed Jason. He hadn’t looked at it from the logical, medical point of view. 

He’d seen that Jason was scared and sick and he’d done what he thought was best. 

Apparently, that hadn’t been what he needed. 

_ It was never what he needed, was it?  _

Dick exhaled heavily, tossed a blanket over his shoulder, and slammed the truck door shut. 

The Clark home was unlocked like it usually was, and Dick went straight in. He dumped the blankets on the couch and stood for a minute in the living room. His shoulders felt caved in and heavy, and seeing  _ Atlantis  _ paused on the TV screen hit him like a punch to the gut. 

_ Things had been going well.  _

In that single moment, everything had been working. Everything that Dick had been trying to convince Jason of, all the texts, all the attempts at reaching out, every time he’d told Jason that it was okay to relax, all the time he’d told him that it was okay that he was different and worse for the wear—he was still part of the family. 

In that single moment, Jason had looked more like his little brother—with that sleep-drunk smile, and the mischievous expression on his face. He hadn’t had his walls up, hadn’t been putting on a face. 

In that single moment, Jason had been  _ Jason.  _

In that single moment, Jason had been Jason Todd. Not the Red Hood. Not some vigilante killer. Not some crazed murderer. Not some recovering asylum patient. Not some psychopath.

In that single moment, Dick didn’t have to dig to see his brother. He’d been right there, with him. 

Dick dropped the bags on the floor, cursed, and brought his hands up, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. 

_ Why couldn’t _ —

There were so many  _ why  _ questions that Dick could ask, so many things that he could question. 

He didn’t want to try and figure it out, though. 

He wanted his brother back. 

  
  


Dick tried to eat. Clark had told him to help himself to the pantry, but everything he looked at seemed unappetizing and he eventually just gave up. He went to the fridge, but he saw the abandoned  _ Jello  _ there and he started to feel sick to his stomach again. 

_ What was it about  _ Jello _?  _ He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. 

An old memory, maybe. Something he didn’t want to remember. 

_ What sort of traumatic event was centered on  _ Jello? 

Dick sighed, decided to try and distract himself because he wasn’t about to call Jason and ask him about it. Even imagining the phone call made him wince. 

_ Hey, it’s your brother. Yeah, yeah. I was just wondering if you have a list of things that trigger bad memories so that I can keep them away from you at all costs.  _

_ Yeah, other than the crowbar.  _

_ Oh, you have a list? Perfect.  _

Dick winced and slammed the fridge door shut.  _ He really was an idiot, wasn’t he?  _

He roamed the house for a little bit, sort of aimlessly. Not really snooping, just...trying to distract himself. 

When he ended up in the room that Jason had stayed in for the third time, he called it quits and went back to the living room. Slumping down on the couch, he considered just leaving. Just going back to Bludhaven and going to work. He’d been gone for too long. 

But it was a long drive and he thought back to how the drive here had gone. He might be endangering more people by starting on a road trip in this state than he would be if he just didn’t show up on patrol. 

And he had someone covering for him—Cass. Bludhaven was probably fairing  _ better  _ than usual, with the Black Bat patrolling its streets instead of an overtired, night-shift  _ and  _ day-shift Nightwing/Officer Grayson. 

So, he stayed there on the couch. The TV lit up again, when he accidentally touched the remote and he pressed play without really registering it in his mind.  _ Atlantis: The Lost Empire  _ sprang to life again, mid-scene, and Dick slumped a little further into the couch cushions. The lights of the TV were too bright, and he already had a headache, but for some reason, he felt himself relax. 

He felt like a kid—sick as a dog, but insisting on staying up to finish a cartoon because  _ it wasn’t every day he watched movies on school nights.  _

He sat there, not really watching the movie, but not exactly thinking either, and then suddenly the credits were rolling and the screen was going dark and he was sitting there, in an unfamiliar house, alone. 

_ Again.  _

He swore and got to his feet because he couldn’t just  _ sit  _ there and do nothing in the darkness. And he was sure that he wouldn’t be able to get any sleep. 

“Okee-dokee,” He muttered to himself, rubbing a hand over his face. “Just…” He turned back towards the TV, wondering if he could just sit and watch whatever reruns were on at this time of the night. 

He already knew that wasn't the answer, though. 

He needed to get over this. He needed to deal with this. Deal with himself. 

He needed to eat. He could start there. 

Dick went back to the kitchen, wandered around for a minute, just opening cupboard doors and not really looking inside. He found himself leaning against the counter, eventually, just standing there.

_ Why wasn’t Clark back yet? He’d definitely dropped Jason off already.  _

Maybe Jason wasn’t feeling well. Maybe he’d let Clark stay with him overnight. Maybe something had come up, Clark had to go back to Metropolis and check on things. Clark had told Dick that it might happen. That he might not be back until tomorrow, told him to make himself at home in the Kent home. 

_ Maybe something had happened. Maybe something was wrong.  _

Dick pushed off the counter, paced in the kitchen, trying to convince himself that he was being stupid. Clark would call him, right? He would know to call him if something happened to Jason? 

_ What would happen to Jason?  _ He healed inhumanly quickly. The surgery had gone well. There was no problem, no complication that Dick needed to be worried about. 

He simply had to get a hold of himself. Had to come to the realization that Jason didn’t  _ need  _ him to mother over him. 

“Get a hold of yourself, Dick,” 

Dick sighed and then went back to the counter. He pulled himself up and sat on it, which made him feel oddly childlike. He sighed, leaned over and plucked an apple out of the bowl of fruit next to him on the counter. 

He was halfway through the apple when he realized that he still really didn’t feel like eating, really didn’t feel like doing  _ anything.  _

Dick threw the apple away and went to bed. 

  
  
  
  


Dick couldn’t fall asleep. 

He just lay there, hands propped up under his chin, watching the  _ Superman  _ night light’s cartoonish logo dance across the ceiling. 

He thought that it was probably some sort of joke—Dick wasn’t exactly sure—but for some reason the light was oddly calming. 

It didn’t help him sleep, though, and it didn’t keep the thoughts, the worry, away either. 

He wasn’t sure how long he lay there before a soft  _ buzz  _ shocked him out of his reverie. Dick paused, tried to swallow down the uncertainty that had suddenly permeated his chest. 

It took him a second to even remember where he’d left his phone and he rolled over on his side. He could see the faint light of his phone screen on the bedside table and it actually took a little convincing for him to finally prop himself up with an elbow and reach for it. 

_ He was so tired.  _

The light from the phone screen decided to burn holes in his retinas and Dick barely held back a yelp, slamming his eyes shut and then easing them open as he fumbled to adjust the brightness. 

When he could finally look at the phone, he just stared at it. 

Stared at it because  _ this didn’t make sense  _ and  _ he was seeing things.  _

There was one new text. 

And it was from Jason. 

_ What? _

Dick sat up too quickly as time  _ snapped  _ back to normal and he felt a mixture of relief and apprehension turn in his stomach. 

Sure, he’d asked Jason to text him, to let him know that he was alright. 

He just never expected Jason to  _ actually do it.  _

Which, come to think of it, was probably a terrible lack of faith to display, but what exactly did Dick have to go off of? Sometimes Jason ignored him when they were talking face to face.

But here he was, being proved wrong yet again. 

He couldn’t be more relieved. 

Dick tried not to wonder why his fingers were shaking as he hovered over the text, took a careful breath, and then opened it. 

Two lines. 

_ Two freaking lines.  _

Dick tried not to think, tried not to get distracted overthinking before he actually read whatever it was that Jason had texted him. 

_ I’m not dead (still). Even forced down half a corndog.  _ And then, in another text bubble:  _ Thanks for keeping most of my blood inside me. -J _

And that, somehow, meant everything. 

Because, yeah, maybe Jason was still struggling and fighting tooth and nail against all the help that people were trying to give him. And, yeah, maybe half of a corn dog wasn’t the best post-surgery meal. And, yeah, maybe Dick really,  _ really  _ didn’t want him to be healing alone. And, yeah maybe, Jason didn't get that Dick  _ needed  _ him to be okay because they were brothers and he  _ wasn't going to lose him again.  _

And, yeah, maybe it would take a little convincing to get Jason to believe that Dick was always in the mood for hugs, or emergency rescues just ‘cause getting out alone would suck, or random  _ Disney  _ movie and crappy takeout food nights or out-of-the-blue texts because  _ life is freaking hard sometimes.  _

But Jason was alive (still) and so Dick had time to drill that into his head. 

And in the meantime, Dick was going to sort some things out. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Have a wonderful weekend and drink lots water!  
> -a
> 
> p.s.   
> I have some things planned coming up, so make sure to let me know if y'all want more on this same story arc (probably a fic with Dick talking to Bruce,etc) or some more related to the Alone (Together) series I just finished (probably about Jason and Tim).   
> Also, I might have a fic about Damian in the works, but you didn't hear that from me ;)


End file.
